Grim Views

By Thrysta 6/3/2008

The girlish sound of giggling rose above the murmuring din of the guild
hall. As the sound grew louder and more strident, the eyes of those
assembled began to turn...

...toward the priestess, Thrysta.

She sat alone, her vestments torn and stained. Blood, both fresh and
dried, coated her flesh and that of her tattered clothing.

Thrysta's giggling grew until her diminutive body was shaking with
cackling laughter.

The hall grew silent, all eyes on the maniacally laughing Forsaken.

Setting down the dirty quill clutched in her hand, she rose, holding
a battered journal.

Thrysta's laughter died down as she walked, limping, toward the center
of the hall. Blood and ichor ran thickly from untended wounds on her
face and arms, apparent also in gashes visible through her torn
vestments. She coughed, spitting blood to the hall floor.

The gaze of the priestess rose to meet the eyes of those in front of
her. Smiling, her vermillion teeth caught the dim light, shining
wetly, pointed and sharp.

Bone ground together as Thrysta straightened to full tiny height, barely
taller standing than most of the Grim surrounding her were while seated.
Blood, some her own and some not, trailed from the corner of her mouth
as her gaze fell to the open pages of the journal clutched in one of
her hands. Her other taloned hand toyed with the fabric of her tabard,
marked with the symbol of The Grim.

The tabard was pristine and clean.

Thrysta hissed, to everyone and no one, her sunken black gaze intent
on the journal.


"Grim."


The word was spoken flatly, not a call to attention, but simply stated
as if by a schoolmarm about to begin a lesson.

The priestess looked out among the Grim present, the arm holding the
journal falling to her side, her reading no longer necessary.

The rapid movement of her falling arm was punctuated by a wet pop, her
shoulder, already bared through her torn vestments and covered with livid
bruises, having dislocated loudly.

Thrysta did not seem to notice. If anything, her bloody smile grew wider
as she continued.

"Not to be placated or moved by entreaty," she murmured, her grating voice
carrying.

"Yes," she uttered quietly, almost whispering.

Throwing back her head, she screeched.

"Ghastly!"
"Shockingly repellent!"
"Inspiring horror!"

Whirling on those behind her, she rolled her shoulders and neck, her
dislocation resetting with the sickening grind of bone on bone.

Exhaling a fine bloody mist, Thrysta giggled.

"Oh my...yes," she sighed.

"Black."
"Harshly ironic."
"Sinister."

The tiny priestess doubled over, cackling with glee.

Without warning, her head lashed up to meet the watching eyes of the
brethren. Her black gaze knifed into those around her as she stood silently.

"I laugh," she hissed, "because...they...are so very fucking amusing."

Thrysta continued.

"Causing dejection," she murmured, "Denying hope..."

At this, her arms rose, spread wide to each side, her head cocked at an
angle. Her pristine tabard hung neatly, displayed to all around her.

"...by our presence."

Throwing back her head, Thrysta screamed, suddenly glowing with barely
contained magics.

"Dour!"
"Harshly intimidating!"
"Formidable in manner!"
"FORMIDABLE IN APPEARANCE!"

Her savage rictus swept across the assembled brethren as the priestess
cried out.

"Look, look at me!" she screamed, "Look at yourselves!"

Thrysta laughed triumphantly.

"Formidable," she hissed.

At that word, the glow surrounding her faded, the room falling again
into the soft light of the hearth fires. Thrysta's gaze dropped, her
ravaged chin falling almost to rest on her chest.

She spoke softly.

"Filled with hopelessness."
"Filled with gloom."

"Hopelessness," she whispered.

"Peace..."

She paused, looking over the assembled Grim.

"...through Annihilation."


"Grim."


Thrysta paused after repeating the word.

"I am Grim."

"We are Grim," the priestess hissed out at the silent masses.

"The word is us."

"We are The Word," she murmured softly.

"Those who are not of The Word," she whispered, "we put in the
fucking dirt."

Giggling, Thrysta turned, limping from the hall.

As she made her way among the tables, she uttered one last message,
her impromptu sermon complete.

"Once they are done screaming..."

By Kethryvaris

*Kethry sits, basing her heartstone against the table uselessly. It appears at the best of times it is sporadic, at other times it ceases to work completely. She puts her head in her hands and wonders what this will do to her status in The Grim if she cannot even enter the Valley without getting yanked back into the Nether*

"Stupid, useless thing." each word is punctuated by a slam of the stone against the table. Suddenly, her head snaps up at the sound of insane laughter.

Keth feels a stirring in her soul...Sometimes she wishes she could laugh like that. All lack of sanity, unhinged, broken sounding. She turns toward the source and spied another Forsaken woman in the center of the hall, covered in all manner of blood and rot. Keth shivered, it was obvious the woman was an accomplished killer.

"We are the word!" is what she hears, and she nods her head a little. Grim being all she has left. She has nothing else, not even a functioning Hearthstone at this point.

"I am Grim. Or will be." she mutters through clenched teeth, anger at her utter uselessness coloring her vision red. She had surely damned herself, now. She should have checked the stone for cracks, problems...Anything...Before she stepped through the transporter. At least then she might have had a warning the damned thing was going to go to shit on her.

She only half hears the woman's ranting, but as she walks by Kethry, she looks at the small woman. "I agree with every word you are saying, even though I am but a Minion. Preach on, Sister. Your sermon is liberating."

Keth focuses her attention on the Priestess, a desire to prove herself flaring up in her for the first time in a long time; as she hears the woman's impassioned delivery to her fellow Grim.

This woman was brilliant, if not utterly unhinged. Her taste for gore boh petrified and enthralled the young Warlock. Sermon, indeed.

Thrysta had just found herself a new convert.

By Coyotl

Coyotl had been asleep upon the fireplace mantle when Thrysta's voice rose through the guild hall. His dreams were manipulated by her words, twisted and worked over into a beast all their own. The druid's feline form shuddered.

Stirring from his sleep, Coyotl stretched and sank his claws into the wooden floor; a motion he had done on numerous nights, leaving deep ruts within the boards. Muscles flexed and he gave a final shake, his eyes peering up as Thrysta flung her head back. A deep rumble rose in his throat, listening to her speech complete.

Slinking away from the mantle, Coyotl snaked across her path and rubbed against her leg as she passed. She might call hellfire upon him for such a motion, but the damnation and punishment would be worth it.

"Quite the wake-up call, Priestess. Mind coming around here this time tomorrow?" he purred at her. "Maybe bring an elf as a snack?" His tone was teasing, considering that after her speech he was ready to go stalk a few down himself, just to see if he could capture the essence that was rippling through Thrysta.

By Greebo

Greebo looked up from the low stool he sat on, hunched close to the unseasonal fire, and murmured "Well said, but why be greedy? Why wait for the screams to end?"
He shivered and smoothed out his robe over his long legs. "So cold." He edged the stool closer to the blaze, added another log, and continued to stare into the flames, the screams of the corrupted dancing puppet figures in his head now muffled by handful after handful of damp earth dribbled onto their faces.

By Achernotia

The priestess' eyes burned with a fanatical glow as they flicked over Acherontia, over each Grim in turn. The Inquisitor was seated in the shadows, across the hall from the other warlock whose brooding stare left the fire but once during Thrysta's sermon. She saw him mutter something and shiver, and she hoped that he would be able to take the priestess' words to heart in spite of the task ahead.

The word is why I do it. The word is why it must be done. For all the Grim who ever were and the Grim who are yet to come.

There had been enough waiting.

It is time.

The fire in the hearth burned merrily but the hunched figure in front of it shivered once again, the tremor echoed across the room in Acherontia's small form.

When the senses are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness,
Who can stand?

When the Grim clap their broad wings over the battle and sail rejoicing in the flood of Death;
When souls are torn to everlasting fire, and fiends of Hell rejoice upon the slain...

O, who can stand?

By Qabian

Qabian sat quiet and alone in a corner that would have been shadowed from the fires if it weren't for the bright lamp on the small table before him. He appeared to be reading from a large tome, but the occasional movement of his ears would betray to observers that he was at the very least listening to some of the conversations in the room.

The mage looked up with the others as Thrysta's laughter rose above the more inane sounds of the gathering. Once her ranting began in earnest, he turned his eyes back to his book and flipped the pages, but a smirk twisted his lips as she continued, cracking them into a wide grin by the time she was done.

He said nothing as she made her departure, but lifted his head as though about to break his attention away from the book. Without his gaze ever leaving the page, he gave a slow, appreciative nod, still grinning, before appearing to return to his reading in earnest.

Limping from the hall, Thrysta came to a sudden stop.

She regarded the large feline crossing her path, tensing as it brushed
against her robed legs, as if marking territory.

Thrysta hissed, baring her teeth, half out of the revulsion of being
touched, half from the effort of keeping her feet...the cat was...weighty.

"Quite the wake-up call priestess," it rumbled, the throaty voice containing
a hint of teasing as the beast continued.

"Mind coming around here this time tomorrow?" it purred, "Maybe bring an
elf as a snack?"

Familiar...ah yes...that one.

Thrysta reached out, the talons of her hand gliding lightly across the creature's
back, scraping slightly across the flesh beneath the dense fur.

Flashing her vermillion smile, Thrysta turned and limped away, trailing drops
of blood across the stones.

"Your feline form suits you, fat one," she murmured, "Seek me out when you
wish to satisfy your..."


"...appetites."

Amusement rolled off of Coyotl, listening to the hiss slip from her lips. He might have leaned his weigh against her more, but the Priestess struck him as fragile; a contradictary thought when dwelled on. However that amusement was cut short by a shudder that struck him, feeling the talons rake through his fur and glide against his skin. Especially when they drew over the scars and welts that were hidden beneath.

It triggered a memory. It wasn't a terrible memory, nor painful. Simply a memory. Lingering on it, he continued on and snorted a laugh hearing her calling him fat one. His head bobbed, the motion continuing through him into a twitch of his tail toward her at the offer.

"Tempting..." he called back, listening to her steps growing distant.

"I might take you up on that."